


Learning to Truth

by HariSlate



Series: Frankenstein [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Augmentation, Character Study, Literary References, M/M, Pre-Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume, Pre-Slash, Self-Exile, Vignette, part of WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28020099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HariSlate/pseuds/HariSlate
Summary: Having run from the station before his genetic status is discovered, Julian Bashir learns to tell a truth.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Frankenstein [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052393
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Learning to Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a WIP I have been "working on" for years, but since I don't even have most of it with me, I didn't bother to read anything of it before I wrote this.
> 
> I worked on it tonight in particular partially because of [Underneath by funnylittleguy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988611), with which it shares themes, but also because of MA brainworms. With which it also shares themes. I wrote this in a few hours, and now it exists.
> 
> I am not sure when it takes place, sometime between the Wire and the Internment Camp. Oh, and Garak doesn't know he's an Augment.

“Well, by what name should I refer to you?” Now, after a week, it seemed that it was up to Garak to make this peace offering. His  _ friend _ had been ignoring him for days, and with nowhere to go on the runabout, this new man was quite tiresome. The same face, Garak had once thought he would have liked his young friend to have secrets.

“What? First time you speak and it’s a question like that? I expected better of you!” He ran a hand through his hair, then scratched his beard. “Bashir, Julian. Probably not Doctor, I’m afraid. Hardly accurate anymore.”

“Not  _ Hall _ ?” A tired sigh.

“Garak, again, Hall does not exist.” But Garak had looked him up, and he saw no seams. Bashir, it seemed, could read the scepticism on his face—he made no effort to hide it. “Perhaps you would allow me my secrets? Please, call me by the names you know me by. As I will call you Garak. Or... Elim.”

Garak hid his flinch. He would not reward so simple a jab.

“I shall grant you that courtesy then, my dear—” He stared the man in the eye, “ _ Julian _ .” And those eyes appeared to soften, “As you never have, me.” He laughed, an old sound.

“In that case, I shall tell you a truth,” The man stood, ordered a raktajino from the replicator. Then a red leaf tea.

“Doctor, there’s no—” But the scent was unmistakable.

“Tell me how it is?” He muttered as he passed it over. The man then sat, sipped his own bitter drink. The earthy smell mixing with the spices in replicated air. “Anyway, there was once a boy—called Hall, or Jules, Julian or... Morgan—it doesn’t matter. What  _ matters _ , what  _ happened _ , was that he had a friend, of whom his parents did not approve. This friend—this other boy—was sent away, and so was Hall.”

“The friend’s name?” Perhaps Garak was poking, prying, but the man across from him was a whole new fascination from the doctor.

“I… George? Jules? What do you think, Garak?” The Cardassian smiled.

“Your  _ truth _ is self-contradictory.”

“So are yours!”

“Mine at the very least contain an  _ internal continuity _ .” And there was that laugh again, unmistakably that of his doctor.

“Think of it as… a multitude within a singular truth.” Garak sipped the red leaf tea. It tasted… as a simulacrum of that produced by the Deep Space Nine replicators. “The friend does not matter, the boy never heard of him again. He’s dead, never existed. What difference does it make if the truth is so… blurred?”

“But you cared for him, Julian. A week away and you have already abandoned so many of your  _ Federation Ideals _ !”

“I- I never knew him. Or I was him. He doesn’t matter, Garak.” Almost a  _ whine _ .

“And Hall?” The man shook his head.

“Perhaps I was him, too.” He took another sip of his drink. “Hall grew up, an unremarkable young man, never… seen. And he never saw—understood—” Garak had seen identity reprogramming fall apart before, but this was not like that. The man was not remembering, learning. He simply  _ was _ , for all Garak could tell. “Hall did not…  _ recognise an interiority in others _ until he was fifteen years old.” The man squeezed out each word as though it were a struggle, his eyes flickering constantly from Garak’s to the screen and back.

“Interiority. Such a Federation concept. And here I thought you were learning, in your  _ exile _ .

“Hah! There is no self in the face of Cardassia!” Garak did not hide his smile, for it was moments such as these that he believed this man was his friend.

Oh, he knew now that this was the man he had met in the replimat, years ago. That was no longer in question. But like the tea, he was nought but a simulacrum of a man.

“And when he  _ recognised this interiority _ ?” Emphasised scepticism, as though they were only talking about an “Earth classic” over lunch.

“He ran. Hid.”

“Ah, a coward!” The man smiled, but it was not that boyish smile. A shade off, old and bitter.

“Oh yes, a coward. But it was all he was ever taught. To run and hide. And it was this time that he was finally caught.” The clunk of a heavy cup on the control panel, and the man stood.

“And have you been caught?” The man’s eyes met his, his face suddenly only a foot away.

“I—” His breath was short, his eyes panicked. Then he blinked and stepped back, suddenly the face of calm. The man could have Obsidian Order training, with control like that. “Perhaps. Maybe I caught myself, when it comes down to it.”


End file.
